


Learning How

by dharma22



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Fluff, Guilty Pleasures, Headcanon, Mild Smut, Rewards, Sucking some dick, giving head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma22/pseuds/dharma22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris sees how enraptured one can be by the words of a book and feels a pull towards the learning of those words. With the aid of Hawke, he learns at a steady pace, but not before he can raise all sorts of hell about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning How

**Author's Note:**

> This little piece of shit work is my desperate attempt to cleanse myself of writers-block. It's eating me alive and I need to end it before it ends me.   
> Pay this no mind.  
> But it would be really helpful if some feedback was thrown my way. :)

He'd always been curious as to what Marian gasped about in her books or what drove her to wander into ridiculous hours of the day just to finish one. When he inquired her about the nature of these books, her reply was always simple. A reality but not this reality. A life but one not always lived. Her books allowed her a chance to run her fingers through the finery of lands she'd never visit, lives she would never lead and she was content with that. _That_ is what she loved.

That is what she found in her books.

Fenris wanted a taste.

The talons of his gauntlet would run the length of spines sporting letters of no meaning and he would pick randomly from their rank according to how one seemed to pop out to him. Whatever he chose would eventually end up thrown at a wall or hauled out an open window. To him, the pages were just a jumble of characters he had no mind for and he temporarily abolished any sort of draw towards learning. But he would always pick them up from whatever hole he'd discarded them in, his hands gentle as they worked the creases out. Hawke had a world in these pages and he refused to be the one to destroy it.

Hawke had a world in him as well. One that Fenris was often too broody to espy.

She would watch with soaring interest as he glared at the wall of books, his brows drawn in focus. The way his hand cautiously rose when a title caught his eye was too sweet and the way he thumbed through its contents, blissfully unaware that the book he just chose was one with great heart on the art of love-making, made her giggle quietly. What gnawed at her heart was his psuedo-clandestine abduction of her books and his equally as awful return of them. 

He wanted this, she decided. Fenris had a certain drive for things that most lacked and Hawke wanted more than anything to see this weight lifted from his shoulders. 

It began as something done when evenings were quiet - as an activity to fill empty time with. Then, as they progressed, it morphed into an all consuming engagement that took up hours and hours and  _hours._ Fenris was content at first with the arrangement, his eyes and mind eager to comprehend all those words. But he grew more annoyed with his shortage of ability as time went on. It was clear he wanted results to be instant, but Hawke had to constantly remind him that things of any true value were best earned slow. 

Fenris thought of her.

He thought of the years it took for her to garner any sort of trust from him and how it took him years to admit to having feelings for her, a mage. In comparison, establishing this relationship with her was more trying than that of conquering  _words_ and he was the happiest man alive with Hawke at his side. 

Hawke would force him to read aloud despite how a large sum of the words tasted bitter in his mouth and sounded so horribly wrong. When he stumbled, she offered a hand to grasp, the words forming perfectly on her tongue. That very tongue would stroke him in the evenings, her full lips pressing kisses to his cock.

"Read that passage to me." she commanded and he would.

Reading it correctly, errors few and minor, would result in her bringing him to a climax. Failure left him hard.

His favourite method of reward was when she smothered his length in between two full breasts, her tongue left to flick across his head. Marian would pull him to success no matter the shit he spat. 

The urge to drive all his anger and joy and love into her was insatiable at times, the tension of annoyance great, but he held himself back with visions of her praise when he was capable of reading to her her favourite books. That praise would be nothing short of glorious. 

And it wasn't. He read to her  _Crossing of the Fade,_ a rather tragic tale about an idiot mage who falls hopelessly in love with a spirit of wisdom, and that night she rode him til the sun hung high in the sky. The nights to come were ones where they shared the world of books and explored thoroughly the expanse of one another. 

But Fenris wouldn't settle for just reading. He wanted to write bitter letters to all who scorned him. He wanted to write letters to Marian.

Hawke was never to know of this, though, and if she did, his plans would be ruined. He enlisted the help of Varric, who then enlisted the help of that dreadful mage, Anders. Together, they taught him the motion of hands to form the characters, the proper structure of statements, the rules of the written word. Anders was surprisingly bearable and helpful, the mage even offering him a few smiles that he returned. 

Fenris learned the flow of his name, of Marian's name and he found himself in a perpetual state of writing them out.

He addressed his first letter to Danarius. He addressed his second to the rotting Hadriana. 

His third was one he refused to address, seeing as how he chose to deliver it himself. 

Hawke was hesitant when he handed her a sealed envelope, her initial reaction leaning towards it being a letter of malice Fenris found. It was not.

In the scrawl of a child was his name and hers, both written within a period of one another. Their names littered the page, but in the middle she found something differing from the rest. 

_I love you always. I am yours._


End file.
